Doesn’t that look fucking delicious?
I think I am alcoholic.
Last night I went out for drink with my friend.
She had a tasty microbrew and I milked a large bottle of Perrier. I wasn’t too crabby about it because she is excellent company and that squelched my impulse to reach over and down her beer in one shot. I bought a “round” and I actually sniffed her beer before handing it over.
Because booze often triggers migraines and the meds I am on combined with a couple drinks would leave me drooling on the bar, I’ve stopped drinking.
I am afraid to even try.
Of course, now that’s all I want to do. Especially when my headaches combined with heat and life and two kids all day primes the pump.
And let’s face it, a drink here and there tastes yummy, and makes other things taste yummy, and relaxes me.
When chronic pain and migraine patients speak of their lives feeling narrowed to a pinpoint, this is the sort of thing they mean.
Little things, like ordering a drink, or staying out late, or making plans, or going on spontaneous adventures, or any adventures are eliminated or changed for fear something might happen and I could be knocked down for a day or a week or longer.
When I started this whole “program” for reducing my headaches I was full on committed. I was taking control and if I had to sacrifice a little booze and some spontaneity, so be it. Now I am falling off the wagon; my old life is rebelling against this new one.
My old life is telling my new life to piss off.
My old life wants a a loaf of bread, to stay up till whenever and get up whenever. To drink water when it’s thirsty and coffee when it smells good. To fit into its pants. To feel awake when it should. To drink a glass of wine, or two.
I won’t, but it’s nice to complain about it. I’m gonna go get some water.
